


All Alone

by ColdNeon



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt No Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:57:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2645912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColdNeon/pseuds/ColdNeon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by: http://xxredemption-love-and-liesxx.tumblr.com/post/103031621015/but-like-imagine-how-sasuke-was-in-land-of-iron</p>
<p>Sasuke wanders aimlessly, feeling the betrayal from the Land of Iron intensely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Alone

The boy stands quietly on the cliff, looking over the edge, his mind clouded with anger, rejection and pain. His mind flashes to her face as she held that kunai, as she plotted to hurt him. _How could she?_ His teeth are gritting together in a vicious cracking rotation, his molars grinding back and forth. He just wanted to make Itachi proud, he wanted to honour him. He wanted people to know how viciously the Uchiha were betrayed and now that Danzo was dead, which meant that at least one of the people who perpetrated that killing were gone. Angrily, he smacks his fist into the tree, splintering the wood. Blood slowly drips down his hand, the pain exacerbating his brooding anger. The action causes his face to contort in hurt, unable to hold up his mask anymore. The bitterness that he felt upon finding the truth about Itachi rushes back and his Mangyeko opens again, causing a slash of pain to rip through his body driving him to his knees.

“She’s lying.”

His own voice is so cold and dissonant that he barely recognises it. Those red tinted memories, so etched into his mind by the Sharingan, replay again and again. Spinning around he slams his fist into the ground causing a small eruption of dust and rock. His blood splatters on the ground and he sinks to his knees shaking silently. A few salty drops slide down his face, hitting the ground. _Why is this happening? I’m justified. They’re defending the murders, they’re the ones at wrong here. If it wasn’t for Naruto and Sakura ignoring the truth about Danzo, then I wouldn’t be here alone. They abandoned me._ Moving back to his feet, he stretches out, cracking his knuckles before walking into the forest, trying to clear his mind.

“She doesn’t love me.”

No one does. With his brother dead, who could? He’s just this hatefilled bastard who scares people, even those who claim to be the closest to him. Pulling out his katana, he starts to slice at trees, back and forth, slicing through the bark, branches and leaves, knocking vegetation to the forest floor. As the green flies around his head, it brushes and scratches his face, drawing blood, some even gashing at his arms. The incessant slashing is a small diversion, but the thoughts threaten to overwhelm him, the constant anger he feels cutting into his heart and mind. _I hate this. I hate them._

_“_ She betrayed me. _She tried to kill me.”_

A loud scream echoes as he plunges his sword deep within the soft earth, the fading light reflecting off the blade. In his anger, he kicks the hilt, knocking it over into the scrub before he slumps against a tree. Images of Sakura flow through his mind, her smile, her laugh, her anger. That sadness in her eyes when he stood behind her waiting for her to make her move. The look of betrayal in her eyes when she realised that he’d tried to kill her. Shakes fill him and again, the harsh salty tears burn at his eyes. His heart aches, with that longing to run back to her and apologise, but how can he do that? How can he tell her that he cared for her when he tried to kill her no less than a few hours ago? She’s trying to defend Konoha, which he has to destroy, because its corrupt centre warps those around it. Kakashi, Naruto and now Sakura. Bitterly he swipes at his face, trying to remove the symbol of weakness crowning his face so elegantly, carving gentle paths through the blood and dirt.

_“_ _She was the last person that was supposed to love me through everything_ _._ _”_

A wince spread across his face as his voice crackles and fades out, so barely his own voice. He snatches up his sword and continues to run on through the forest, no longer caring about the pain, letting his pain flow outwards, through his eyes and his cracking voice, letting nothing slow him down in his grief. As he aimlessly runs, he trips, sliding facefirst down a muddy slide, before smacking into a log and coming to a rest in a crumpled ball of mud stains and blood. Lying still in the ball, he wonders what that wretched noise he can hear is. It sounds like a dog that’s been beaten to the point where it’s howling with no end. Coldly and clinically he realises that the noise is in fact coming from his throat, his lungs, his body. Not another animal, but him. Grimacing, he shouts his mouth and sits upright, wiping the mud from his face.

“She used me. She’s **_like them_**.”

The tiny admission makes him feel relief, in a sickening way. What type of fucked up person would love him anyway, what person would take their heart and try to heal his? He leans back and stares at the sky, the slow drip of the tears slowing down, drying out. He runs his tongue over his lips and tastes the salt and iron from the day. The evening sun dries his face, hardening the salt and speeding the coagulation of the blood. Inside the haze of his head, the murkiness and fogginess continues to grow, his mood become more idle, more neutral. The depressing aftermath of his mania is starting to take effect and he groans as the pains starts to set in.

_“She doesn't love me anymore. I can't be loved. I can't.”_

He leans back and relaxes his facial muscles after the words pass his lips, his grimace sliding into a neutral scowl, his eyebrows unknotting and his eyes relaxing, the Sharingan fading back into his dark eyes. Sighing again, he glances upwards, watching the faint specks of light arriving in the evening sky, with mild clouds rippling. It looks like a storm will be coming soon. Before he can even complete the though, a small drop of rain impacts on his face, washing away the dirt and salt, wiping downwards. As the rain washes over him, he feels an affinity for the rain, a connection with the force that stops for no one, a simple element that is resisted by nothing.


End file.
